


In Dust, You Conquer

by dorkery



Series: Sankt Mariens: Prussia, Our Lady of the Land [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1700s, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Army, Childhood, Family, Gen, Growing Up, War Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-16
Updated: 2011-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-26 03:35:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorkery/pseuds/dorkery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were never bound by anything concrete; not blood nor politics. But this was why they became family.</p><p>(Young!Germany and fem!Prussia becoming family)</p><p>Part of the fem!Prussia history arc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Little West gazed up in reverent awe.

Prussia was dressed magnificently; plumed tricorne, black neckstock, cobalt blue coat with red cuffs and turnbacks under which she wore a straw coloured waistcoat and white crossbelt. Her scabbard slung low across her hips and her jackboots shone like a polished mirror. She was barking orders to members of her regiment but he heard nothing as he took in the sight of her. He had never seen her drawn up like a soldier before, august and shining with her shoulders back and her chest out. Transfixed, Little West did not realise the flurry of activity all around him until someone accidentally smacked into him and sent him tumbling to the floor. He was only vaguely aware of the laughter and apology as Prussia knelt by his side and cradled him in her arms.

“You’re gonna catch a fly with your mouth hanging open like that.”

A roar of laughter followed but Little West merely gazed on as Prussia lifted him to his feet and ruffled his hair. He wanted desperately to say something, anything, but he could not speak. Instead, he peered at her quietly as she conversed, fingers clutching hers as she continued to make plans for war. She was so handsome and strong, he felt. He wanted to stand as tall as she did, dress as smartly, laugh and joke and ride alongside her into battle. He was too little, she always told him, he could not even read or drink beer, much less ride a horse or fire a cannon. He wanted so to be able to do all those things, to read and drink and ride and shoot, that she would take him along with her to war, trust him to don the blue and sing the songs. She kissed his forehead and told him to run along. He saw, for the first time, her broad shoulders and wide back as she mounted her musket upon her shoulder and marched off with the other soldiers. For the first time, he realised what it meant to yearn.

\-----

“He’s so little and he doesn’t look a thing like you.”

Prussia smacked someone up the head but her grin did not fade. Laughter swelled. Steins pounded against the table. Little West’s head was lowered but he looked up at the soldiers shyly, only understanding their words a little as he sat by Prussia’s side. She put an arm around his shoulders.

“Don’t be a whoreson, Dieter. He’s going to grow up big and strong like me, just you watch.”

“That’d be a treat!”

“If strength runs in the family, I’d run far away from you Beilschmidts.”

They laughed again, Prussia the loudest by far. Someone yelled for beer and another egged her to show off her muscles. With a laugh, she threw off her jacket and rolled up a sleeve, flexing her bicep for all to see, as dramatically as she could manage. They oohed and aahed, whistled and cheered as beer flowed freely and put them in a great humour. Little West touched her arm, squeezed the muscle, taken aback by how firm and solid it felt.

“Oh, the little one’s impressed, Beilschmidt!”

“Show him your scars!”

“Give us a show!”

Without an ounce of shame, Prussia flashed them a grin before she pulled Little West up to sit on her knee. She rolled her sleeve all the way up to her shoulder, baring a long gash that ran down to her elbow.

“See that? Got that fighting those damned Austrians in Soor. Shot at and cut up with a bayonet.”

“Soor!” The men toasted, downing their pints.

She pulled the collar of her shirt down, low enough that a long scar could be seen running over the ridges of her collarbone but not so low that her chest bindings were visible.

“And this, this beauty I got from a hussar in Hohenfriedberg with the Bayreuth Dragoons.”

“The Dragoons!” They cheered even louder, toasting each other’s health.

Prussia lifted her shirt up to bare a cross-shaped scar on her stomach.

“At Kesselsdorf, a grenadier thought to skewer me before the Prussian cavalry charged and made the Saxons run away with their tails between their legs.”

“Prussia!” And that was the loudest cheer of them all.

As Prussia made to dress herself properly once again, she halted at the feel of soft little palms pressing gently against her stomach. She looked at the boy who was so intently staring at the scar, tracing it and the contours of her muscles out with his fingertips like he wanted to hold it in his hands. It tickled slightly but she was overcome with some emotion she could not name and grinned down at him proudly. She touched his hair and he looked up at her.

“Don’t listen to these idiots, Little West,” she said. “It doesn’t matter if you can’t talk or hold a sword. You’ll grow even bigger and stronger than me one day, mark my words.”

For the first time, she saw his eyes light up.

\-----

Little West’s first word had been, “Hello,” which insofar as first words go was a rather sensible one, albeit friendly and a very good estimate of his character.

He spoke haltingly, as though he knew what he wanted to say but couldn’t quite remember what words sounded like. He mixed things up sometimes and certain letters didn’t come out exactly right but even through her excitement, Prussia knew enough to let him take his time. She encouraged him to speak, asked him questions, engaged him in simple little conversations until he found himself talking without reluctant pauses and with the growing crescendo children often used when they became excited. It was a joy to see life in his pretty blue eyes, in the way he moved his hands and stammered his words. He was a shy child, even with her, but she could always see the look in his eyes that made him want to speak with her even if he was too intimidated to.

Prussia didn’t understand it herself but she humoured the boy, willingly and often. He lingered in front of the study door, ushered in by passing servants or by Prussia herself if she chanced to see him. He was content to just sit near her and watch her work, something that had made her feel unsettled at first, a sentiment echoed by her superiors. Once she introduced him to pen and ink, even the grumbles of the king meant nothing to her. He spilled ink everywhere, on the floor, on the paperwork, on his shirts, sometimes even on other people, and even though he always seemed sorry about it afterwards, she never once found it in herself to be angry with him. His drawings were often nonsensical or too abstract for her eye, but Little West always did things so seriously that his earnestness was endearing. However, once his phase with the pen was through, he turned his attention to the books in the room. The king only too happily supplied one of his erudite friends to teach him how to read and write. In this occupation, Little West’s earnestness excelled.

“Will you read me a story, sister?”

He asked with his big blue eyes that shone with such reverence and longing that Prussia could never find it in her to deny him or halt the words ‘sister’ from his lips. She did not know what it meant to raise a child, her own childhood had been a patchwork of peace and violence and running and resting, and tried to remember the lessons she learned from watching her human lords with their children. She set boundaries between them, upheld rules that little princes obeyed and the boy obeyed only too willingly. He was a little angel who did his best to please her and so she read him his stories and put him to bed before the hour turned late.

One night in the dark, she heard him cry in his sleep as she idled in front of his room. Prussia went to his side to stroke his hair and he clung to her, burying his face in her chest. When he refused to let her go, she carried him in her arms and brought him to her own bed, where he watched her read by his side until his eyes fluttered shut. She held him against her as she turned in for the night, wondered why such a little thing trusted her so intimately against the monsters that lurked in his dreams. She was his master, even if she did not feel as such. His awe of her was not unfounded. She tried to remind herself not to submit to the folly of the other imperial powers. Boundaries existed for a reason, and already she had broken half of them through sheer leniency.

There was a quiet knock on her door, days later.

Prussia answered, looking down at the child with a wry smile. More monsters to fight.

“I beg your pardon for disturbing you at this late hour,” he said, polite as a duke, and silently she marvelled at how much education had improved his speech. “But may I please sleep with you tonight, sister?”

Prussia stepped aside to let him through. “Nightmares, kid?”

“No, sister.”

He tried to climb onto her bed but succeeded only with a little boost from her. As she tucked him in and stroked away his bangs, she realised that he was watching her in that quiet little way he always did.

“Something you want to say?”

“Are you… angry with me?”

“No, just wondering why you want to sleep with me is all.”

“Well… You never really like it when I’m around, do you?”

She was taken aback at this. “What makes you say that?”

“I want to be with you but you don’t want to be with me.”

Prussia blinked. “You want to… what?”

“I feel lonely when you don’t talk to me. Ever since I started learning how to read and write, you never speak to me anymore.”

“You… want to speak with me?”

“Is it wrong of me?”

“Well… no. But _why?_ ”

And he looked up at her like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Because I love you, sister.”

Prussia stared at him for the longest moment before she broke into a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

A gun shot rang out loud and clear through the range, making the silence that followed tremble as birds scattered into the air. He hadn’t expected the violent recoil or the volume; the throbbing in his shoulder and hands were matched only by the deafness he was feeling in one ear. He lowered his musket, cupping the side of his head in an effort to make everything stop hurting.

“Well, well, well! His aim’s not bad at all!”

Beside him, Prussia ruffled his hair affectionately.

“My little Western boy’s got steady hands.”

“I’m not little anymore,” he grumbled, pushing away Prussia’s hand. “Stop calling me that.”

She shot him a look, wryness still evident in the twist of her mouth even as the quartermaster cuffed his ear.

“Manners, boy! What would the king say if he were to hear you say that?”

“My apologies,” he grumbled and, at a threatening look from the quartermaster, he apologised once again – properly and formally.

“No harm,” Prussia forgave with ease, still amused. “My boy thinks he is not little.”

“Indeed I am not, my lord,” he was hot to argue but remembered the quartermaster’s rebuke and kept his manners. “I beg for a moniker suited for someone above the age of five, if it pleases you.”

At that, Prussia’s smile morphed into a grin with too many teeth. She sidled along and slipped her arm around his shoulders, pulling him up against her. He flushed at the proximity and at their placement as buried his face in her stomach. Unwillingly, he brought both hands up to cling to the fabric of her coat and flushed deeper at his childish response to her loose embrace.

She was quiet a moment before she spoke again, voice a little lower. “Dear heart,” and he noted the wry endearment that made him feel his youth even further and drove that blush of his to a brilliant crimson, “You may grow tall and wide but even so you will always be my little Western boy.”

“I would not deny that,” he sulked into her uniform, “Only I am not _little_.”

“Why, pray, are you in such a hurry to grow?”

 _To don the blue and sing the songs._ “I want to ride and shoot.”

“But you already are, Little West.”

“West,” he said fiercely. “Only West.”

Above, he heard Prussia sigh and felt her roll her eyes. She wound both her arms tightly around him, resting a hand in his hair where she stroked gently.

“You are still young to be in that heinous age of rebellion.”

“I am not rebelling,” he complained, finally peering up at her, “I am negotiating.”

“Negotiating.”

“It is the means by which two or more parties come to agreement through compromise, nominally verbal in nature though a manner of recompense–”

“Thus, you must also be aware that negotiation implies something to be gained by all parties.” She quirked a brow at him. “My reward?”

“My rapt and undivided attention.”

Prussia barked laughter. “You say that as though I do not have it.”

He struggled, aware that he had been caught in a trap and did not know how to rescue himself. The quartermaster briefly bade his farewells to them, smiling at the fraternal intimacy between the two as he excused himself.

He finally managed to think. “I would deny you of it.”

“I would like to see you try.”

He bit on his lower lip. Trapped. He could try, certainly he could, but the concept was not just appallingly rude, it was also unthinkable. He could not ignore his sister even if she acted like a varlet. _Especially_ if she acted like a varlet. She was so very good at acting like a varlet and it enraptured him.

Prussia watched the inner war with amusement and gently touched his cheek, regaining his attention.

“My boy, do not rush to grow up. You are in your sweetest years and I would like to keep them for as long as I am able.”

“But…”

“Come now,” she smiled tenderly at him, a smile few had the privilege of, “You want to ride and shoot. I have given you that, Little West. Are you still unsatisfied?”

“I can read now,” he said, “But… I still need to drink beer and fire a cannon.”

“Read? Fire a cannon? What on earth…”

He drew himself in primly, arms tight around her waist as he chewed his lip nervously, still looking raptly up at her.

“I… I want to wear the blue with you.”

It took a moment for the words to gain meaning, but when they did, Prussia gazed at him with a thunderstruck look in her eyes. She slowly crouched to be of a height with him, both hands on his shoulders as she looked at him so very gravely. He straightened instinctively, still biting down on his lip as he met her eyes steadily.

“Why would you want to wear the blue?”

“Why wouldn’t anyone want to wear the blue?” He blurted out. “Who doesn’t dream of riding and fighting and warring shoulder-to-shoulder with valiant knights in honour of the fatherland and his king?”

Prussia grinned slightly. “I’m valiant now, am I?”

He flushed deeply, forcing away the urge to fidget with the hem of his waistcoat. He mumbled something inaudible to his feet.

She placed a palm on his cheek, thumb caressing gently and making him meet her gaze once again. She sighed.

“It is true that I don’t know what your purpose is, only that your destiny is mine to mould. It is also true that inevitably, indubitably, you will wear the blue and join me into battle. But do not force that day, young one. You will despise me.”

“Never,” the rebuttal was startled out of him but he felt the words in his very bones. “I would never, _never_ despise you. I promise you, I would _never_ –”

“Promises are easy to make when your belly is filled with meat and mead, and your hands are warm, and your mind is calm,” she said with a little sort of smile he had never seen before that made his heart ache. “I am a terrible master. You may not hate me now, but you will grow to despise me once you are at my mercy. The army of Prussia is harsh, as you know. It will be harsher at my hands because you are my boy.”

“If you worry than perhaps I could be assigned to another master,” he stammered out.

“That is unthinkable,” she replied firmly. “You are my responsibility.”

He weighed her words heavily in his mind, turning them over and over again until he finally replied with the only thing that remained in his arsenal.

“I love you.”

He saw her expression shift, misty to sad to resigned. Hesitantly, he took this as a sign that he might have the upper hand and pressed onwards.

“And you are kind to me. I hear people whisper that you are cold and merciless and harsh but I know that it is never your intention. Your motives are always true. If you are cruel to me, I know it is not because it pleases you, but because you believe it is what is right. If you hurt me and I curse you, it is because I am weak, my lord, not because I am hateful. Because I love you. And I would not stop at the expense of blood or sweat or bone.”

She gazed at him in awe. “You are _nine_. Nine-year-olds are not supposed to be eloquent.”

“I am arguing my case in order to procure conditions favourable to my party in the course of our negotiations.”

Prussia’s lips quirked but she stifled the smile quickly to ask him one question.

“Why do you love me?”

He flushed, stammering over his words and staring at his feet but managed to reply.

“Because… Because you are my sister.”

He twisted the hem of his waistcoat in his hands, suddenly shy and sheepish and for all the world small. He dragged his eyes back up to her face, finding it difficult now as he had not before.

“Do you… love me?”

“Have mercy,” she muttered, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder. “I’ll do whatever you want, you damned siren. Never ask that question of me again.”

He smiled slowly, pleased at this turn of event as he reciprocated the embrace.

“So we are agreed that I am now just ‘West’, yes?”

“Yes,” her reply was muffled as she hugged him tighter. “But you will don the blue when I damned well say you’re going to and that _means_ being older than nine.”

“I think that condition agrees with me.”

West couldn’t help the grin as he closed his eyes and leaned his head against his sister’s.


End file.
